Worst Dry-drunk ever


All this talk of drinking is making me thirsty, and as Dena Kapsalis used to say, in her best faux Irish voice, “I've got a mighty thirst”, making sure to trill the 'r'. Damn this has been a long week, and looks like tomorrow (Saturday) will be just another work-day. Oh well. At least I have plenty of booze in the house.

Would it be irresponsible to speculate about Bush’s relapse into alcoholism? But here’s the thing. Let’s say he is drinking. Let’s say he is. Bush is a self-diagnosed alcoholic. Bush is a self-diagnosed alcoholic who woke up one day and cured himself (assist: Jesus). That is the story, yes? I’m not missing anything? Now, I don’t doubt that there is a legitimate medical diagnosis of alcoholism, and I’m not trying to make light of it in any way, but the lay definition of “alcoholic” is pretty close to the Dylan Thomas definition: “anyone who drinks more than me.”

Lots of people drink, but they aren’t alcoholics. Lots of people drink unnecessary amounts of alcohol and act like complete dickheads sometimes, but aren’t alcoholics. You may know people like that, you may be a person like that, indeed, you may even be reading the weblog of a person like that right now. The thing is, what is an “appropriate” amount of alcohol consumption is pretty situation-dependant, and certain situations - New Year’s Eve parties, blind dates, and, most notably, college - have a pretty loose definition of “appropriate”. People drink insane amounts in college, then leave college, enter the real world, realize that what was once appropriate or even expected alcohol consumption is no longer appropriate, and adjust accordingly, no problem. And they may look back on those days and say “ho-ho, I was a real alcoholic back then”, and by the broad popular definition, I suppose they were. But, in the stricter sense, they weren’t. It’s just that “alcoholic” sounds a bit better than “fucking dumbass”.

Now, if you look at George W.’s drinking days, they were a lot like college, only more so. He got jobs handed to him, and was expected to do nothing but have the last name “Bush”. If there were any bumps in the road, his dad was enough of a hot shit to smooth them out. And, because of this, people would probably kiss your ass no matter how much of drunken, immature fucking dumbass you were. In this situation, you might not see any real need to drink anything less than the maximum amount you could get your fat little mitts on. Because drinking is fun.

Now, let’s fast-forward to the age of forty, and suppose that, in your new social situation, and with pressures to start using your family’s name to start a political career, the Animal House-style boozing you had been able to get away with was no longer really appropriate. At this juncture, as I see it, you would have two options for explaining your past:

1. Say that you acted like every week was pledge week because you were rich, popular, and powerful, and drunken immaturity is just way more fun than boring bourgeois propriety, you middle-class chumps.

2. Say that you acted like every week was pledge week for medical reasons entirely beyond your control, which you diagnosed yourself without needing any fancy city book-learnin’, which you heroically overcame be sheer force of will, and with a little help from your heavenly homie J-dogg.

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comments work, posting broken. Hmmm.

Hi Dena!

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This page contains a single entry by Seth A. published on September 24, 2005 6:30 PM.

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